Coming Home
by MrMeatbag
Summary: Some Fables did have an annoying habit for returning from the grave. Blue was just a little surprised that he turned out to be one of them.


Without a doubt, Blue had to admit that there was one thing stranger than the sensation of dying, and that was coming back to life.

Odd. Everyone knew that some dead Fables had an annoying knack for coming back after a while. But he had thought his story much too obscure, not popular enough to grant him this kind of blessing.

But now he was alive and well. Standing on the Farm of all places and for the life of him he didn't quite remember how he got there. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no heavenly voice commanding back to Earth (or at least the Mundy Earth). He was just there. It was likely stirring from a daydream only to find yourself lost and not knowing how you got there, only that you did.

Was he sure that he was even alive? He gave all his limbs a quick shake, as though that would stir him from any fantasy of his. Everything seemed fine, though his right arm was slightly stiff. Though he was pleasantly surprised to have the limb back at all so he wasn't complaining. He took in his surroundings once more. Though it was the middle of the night, he could make out the buildings and homes of the Farm's residents. Nothing seemed out of place. For good measure, he took in a deep breath of the crisp air all around him. It was – refreshing.

Ok, now he was pretty sure he was alive again, though if everything was to suddenly crumble and he found himself once more in a pit of darkness, he wouldn't bat an eyelash. But what to do with his newfound life? He _should _be jumping for joy or running around and telling his friends that _the tales of his demise were greatly exaggerated._

He smirked. He may not be one for theatrics, but some small part of him had always wanted to say that.

He then decided that it would be best if he just went home for the night, leave everyone to their rest. He took a step forward, his mind set, though reality swiftly came crashing down on him.

Of what _home _did he think of? He didn't have a residence anymore in Fabletown anymore.

Of course there was his former room in Rose's manor.

'_Probably wouldn't be appropriate, she is a married woman'. _He thought bitterly, a sharp pain budding in his gut.

_Was. _He remembered now, she had told him that she had divorced Sinbad. He wasn't quite sure how that had worked out but – she seemed convinced. Would she even want him there? Maybe it would be ok for one night. Maybe she would be happy to see him? He wasn't too sure about that, after all on his deathbed he had rejected her, totally and utterly even when she tried to reach out to him, he had cut her off, dismissed her. The pain in his gut returned full force.

Did she really deserve that? Thinking back, he knows he was bitter and angry at everything – that damn arrow, Sinbad, _her. _But he had called her broken. Sent her off like some common floozy. Even when he saw the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. How could he have been so callous, so cruel? The pain was still there of course, the pain of rejection, of unrequited love. But now the guilt he felt outweighed any sentiment of spite.

He had to see her.

He had to set this right.

He found himself already running onwards. _Running?_ Boy was he eager. As the air wisped past him, he found himself wondering what the hell he was going to say to her.

_Oh fancy seeing you here, by the way I'm not dead! _ Yeah that would go down great.

_Rose my love, how I have missed thee! _Oh dear God.

_I'm sorry for being a colossal asshat on my deathbed? _Well, maybe a step in the right direction.

Before long he was standing before her home, previously _their _home once in a much more pleasant time.

Now or never.

He took one step up the stairs to the porch. Then another. And another. With a trembling hand he reached out to the door knob. The door opened freely, and he was greeted with the sight of the foyer. He would've been a bit more curious as to why the front door was unlocked, but now he had a one track mind. He heard movement from the kitchen, likely Rose herself.

So she still lived here, that was a good sign. He thinks.

He reached his leg out and stepped inside trepidatiously, almost like he was testing the waters. When he was sure that his leg wouldn't fall off, he pulled his entire body inside, making sure to close the door behind him with a very quiet 'click'. He seemed to glide forward, his body working of its own accord. He stood in the doorway, and he saw her.

She hadn't noticed him yet and was too busy with her hands in the sink, diligently washing them. Her red hair was a little longer now, as it reached down to her shoulders. He noticed her ensemble, simple grey baggy pants and a white t-shirt, that hung loosely to her skinny frame. He doesn't think that she's ever looked more beautiful.

"Red." Her name rolls smoothly off his tongue.

Her breath hitched and her body stiffened. Ever so slowly she turned to face him. He saw now for what must be the first time in years, her gentle features, her creamy skin, her cute button nose, her thin pink lips, and her gentle emerald eyes. The words he had rehearsed (albeit poorly) had fled his mind, and he was left standing there like a fool. She was in little better condition as she stood there absolutely gobsmacked.

"Blue?"

Before he could comprehend what was happening he was flung backwards as she crashed into him. With a grunt he landed on his back, not entirely registering the pain as it collided with the tiled floor below him. All he could comprehend was the babbling mass of warmth and beauty that clung tightly to him, her face nuzzled deeply in the crook of his neck and her arms snaked under his, as though she was afraid he would disappear if she let go. His arms wrapped around her midsection and he returned her embrace without a single thought.

He could feel her shuddering and when he felt something warm and wet seep down his neck, he realised she was crying. That alone magnified his guilt tenfold; that he had brought her this misery broke his heart into countless pieces.

He can't seem to remember all the hurt and rejection now. All he remembered is how much he missed her. How much he still loved her.

She kept on babbling apologies as she sobbed into his neck.

He interrupted her with a gentle hand on her chin, nudging her to look up at him.

"It's ok. I'm here. I'm sorry, it'll be ok." He cooed as tears filled his eyes. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

She choked on a little bite of laughter, of joy. Her lips swiftly descended on his, hungry and eager. He was surprised by these new sensations, the softness of her lips on his, the pleasantness of her taste, the comfort of her arms now snaked around his neck. He kissed back with equal enthusiasm and he pulled her hard against him, trying desperately to get _more_ of her. The sweetness of the moment swiftly changed into something more primal and passionate, though holding just as much love, as her tongue forced its way into his mouth and all he could hear was their rugged breathing and her moans of pleasure.

The pain was gone, the loneliness, the misery.

He was home.

_fin_


End file.
